She rolled her eyes and opened the box, so the ring was staring at me. “The point of the story isn’t the women who didn’t find love, but the one who did. Your great-grandmother Sherri, and my grandmother, was happily married for fifty-three years to a guy she met when she was a teenager.”
“You’re so full of shit right now,” I say, shaking my head. “But I have to give you props for making up the story.”
“It’s not a story, Micha Scott. It’s the truth.” She picked up the box from the coffee table and balanced it in the palm of her hand, urging me to take it. “You’re the one who did. People envy you and Ella—hell, I envy you.”
“That’s because you were married to a douche bag for six years.”
“What you have isn’t the same as your father and me. I barely knew him when I met him.”
Giving up, I decided to tolerate her and took the box from her hand. “I’ll think about it.”
She smiled, leaning back into Thomas, who whispered something in her ear. The longer I stared at the ring, the more my reservations crumbled. In the end, I had an idea.
As Ella and I lay in my bed with the lamp on, we cuddle close to each other because of the icy temperature. The neighbors’ red and gold Christmas lights flash through the window and light up my room. Ella has on the Silverstein shirt without a bra on and her hair smells like vanilla mixed with smoke. I love the smell.
“What are you thinking about?” She rolls onto her stomach and rests her chin on my chest, batting her eyelashes at me. “You’re being really quiet.”
I stare into her eyes, considering my next words carefully. “I’m thinking about giving you your Christmas present.”
Her head tilts to the side. “Since when do we do the Christmas present thing? We’ve never done it before.”
“Well, I’m thinking about starting a new tradition.” With a deep inhale, I reach for the box on my nightstand and balance it on my chest right in front of her face. “Actually a few new traditions maybe.”
Her green eyes amplify as she quickly retreats and kneels on the bed. “What is that?”
Collecting the box, I sit up. “It’s what you think it is. However, before you go freaking out, let me get through my speech, okay?”
Her chest heaves as she breathes in and out. “Okay.”
I’m shocked I even got an okay from her, so I swiftly push forward. “So, my mom told me this story about my great-grandma who apparently was, like, the only woman in the family lucky enough to ever find love.” I pause, trying to pick up her vibe, but in the low light, her eyes look black and her face is barely a shadow.
I kneel in front of her, taking her hand, which trembles. “She also explained to me how lucky we are and that she kind of envies us.”
She stifles a smile. “Your mom envies a couple of teenagers?”
“Hey, tomorrow I’m officially out of that category,” I remind her in a light tone.
She swallows hard and her eyes flicker to the box in my hand. “Which means I should be giving you the presents.”
“Oh, you will,” I assure her with a grin as I clutch the box tightly in my sweaty palm, struggling to hide my nervousness. “But tonight is about you and me and our future.” Her lips open with an objection, but I talk over her and her eyes drift to the door. “The thing is, I knew when my mom suggested it that you aren’t ready. I get you, Ella May, that much.” I cup her cheek and compel her to look at me. “Like how I know that right now you want to leave. Not because you don’t love me, but because you’re scared. Scared you can’t do it. Scared you’ll hurt me. Scared you’ll actually be happy about what I’m going to ask you.”
She bites down on her bottom lip, looking torn, her eyes wide, her chest heaving with each unstable breath. “Sometimes I think you’re a mind reader.”
I smile. “I actually am. I just don’t tell anyone because it would freak too many people out.”
She rolls her eyes and sits down on the bed, settling my nerves a little. I sit in front of her and position the box between us.
“I’m not going to ask you to marry me,” I say and her eyebrows furrow as she raises her gaze from the box to me. “I’m going to make a proposition.”
“A proposition?” she asks, confounded. “What kind of a proposition?”
I’m thoroughly enjoying myself now, knowing she’s curious. I take her hand in mine and open her palm to set the box in it. “I want you to wear it, not on your ring finger but on some other finger and then you can move it to your ring finger whenever you’re ready.”
She gapes at the box fearfully. “And what happens when I move it? We just get married?”
“Yeah,” I say simply. “That’s kind of the point.”
Her gaze connects with mine, her pupils magnified. “But then we’d be married—like, really married.”
“It’s not happening right now, so calm down.” I massage her hips to try and relax her. “Now, are you going to open it, or stare at the box all day?”
She stares at the box for what seems like an eternity and then tentatively flips the lid open. Her breath catches. “Holy shit,” she says and drops the box.
Trying not to laugh, I pick it up and remove the ring, holding it out to her. “What do you say, pretty girl? Are you in or out?”
I wait for what seems like forever and then she slips an unsteady finger through the band. “I’m in.”
It’s on the ring finger of the wrong hand, which means we’re not quite there. But one day we will be. And that’s all I need at the moment.
Chapter 21
Ella
I feel so strange the next day, in ways that are unexplainable. I have a ring on my finger, the diamond band twisted in knots that swirl up to a black stone in the center of glistening studs. It’s actually the most perfect ring for me, not girly with a big flashy diamond on it, like a lot of girls want. It’s dark, different, and has some scratches on the surface, like me.
The more I think about it, it’s downright perfect.
I decide to wake him up with a nice birthday present for being the greatest person that has ever graced my life.
At the crack of dawn, when the sunlight is barely peeking through the curtain, I sneak out of bed and over to my house, which is soundless. Lila is fast asleep in my bed and I tiptoe to my closet. Searching through my old clothes, I find what I’m looking for.
I remember when I wore it for Halloween. I was sixteen and decided to act like a girl for the night. Usually, I did something scary, but that year I put on a leather dress and some stilettoes that made me tower over almost everyone at Micha’s party. My hair was done up and I had some bright red lipstick on. It had been a rough day at my house that day. My dad had wrecked the car and my mom had yelled at him for hours, so I was relieved to be leaving and getting a break.
When I showed up, the party had been in full mode. The music was cranked, people were wasted, girls were half naked, and furniture had been broken. Micha was talking to a girl with curly brown hair, wearing a dress equally as short as mine, but she had a lot more cleavage that nearly fell out of the top. He was dressed in a black T-shirt with a red skull on it and there were skulls all over his belt that held up his black jeans. He had sprayed black streaks in his hair and there were leather bands around his wrists.
They were in the kitchen next to the keg and I had walked up casually as if nothing was out of the ordinary.
“You know someone’s broken your mom’s ceramic plate, right?” I told him reaching for a plastic up. “Out on the back porch.”
He was fully engulfed in the brunette. “Well, I’ll clean it up…” When his eyes landed on me his voice trailed off and the brunette gave me a nasty look. His gaze skimmed my costume and he didn’t look happy. “What the fuck are you wearing?”
I sipped my beer. “A Halloween costume.”
He gaped at me. “What the hell are you supposed to be?”
“A slut,” I say, cutting a glance at the brunette. “Which seems to be a theme tonight.”
She glared at me and then smiled sweetly at Micha. “I’m going to go dance. Do you want to join me?”
He waved his hand at her dismissively. “You can’t walk around like that.”
“Why not?” I was thoroughly enjoying how upset he was over the dress. “It’s how everyone else is dressed.”
He leaned to the side and checked out my backside. “Your ass is basically hanging out of it… and girls dress like that when they want to get fucked, so go home and change.”
I started to get pissed. Knocking back the entire beer, I crumbled the cup and tossed it on the counter. “You’re acting like a jealous boyfriend and it’s weird.”
“I’m trying to protect you, Ella May,” he retorted loudly over the music as I marched toward the living room where everyone was dancing. “From all the other guys out there who are thinking the same dirty thoughts as I am.”
For a brief moment, his words excited me, but I smothered the feeling. “You have no right to try and stop me from doing anything, when you do whatever you want and whoever you want all the time and I don’t ever say a word.”
He glared at me and I scowled back, before backing away into the crowd with my chin held up defiantly.
About an hour later, I was pretty drunk and dancing with some guy with brown hair and bloodshot eyes, who smelled like pot. He was cute, but I wasn’t into him. Every time he tried to touch me, I inched out of his reach with panic soaring through me.
Finally, he grabbed my waist, digging his fingers into me roughly, and forced me to get closer to him. Anxiety had seized my throat as his fingers spread around his hips and I was just about to knee him in his special place when he was yanked away from me.
“Get the hell out of here.” Micha shoved him back, then clenched his hands into fists.